


Awake, Dear Heart, Awake

by sandy_s



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cats, F/M, Round Robin, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25659034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandy_s/pseuds/sandy_s
Summary: Buffy has a revelation in therapy and has a next door neighbor named William whom she wants to avoid because reasons...even though he has a pretty neat cat.Set during season 6 of BtVS after As You Were.This chapter was written for the special round robin on Elysian Fields called Exquisite Corpse. Each author receives the one paragraph of the previous chapter and has to create a chapter based on that paragraph. The first paragraph of this story was written by the delightful kats_meow. This chapter can be seen as a standalone.Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss owns all.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Awake, Dear Heart, Awake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yellowb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowb/gifts), [kats_meow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kats_meow/gifts).



> Title comes from Shakespeare’s the Tempest. Thank you to the wonderful yellowb for organizing this! It’s such a huge undertaking with lots of moving parts so thank you thank you! And thank you to kats_meow for her lovely and inspirational starting paragraph (the italicized part).

_“Oh, Buffy.” Spike cupped her cheek, the love and honesty in his eyes shining too strongly to be mistaken. “What you are has always been everything to me. Always will be. Sod what the magic says. You love a full soul’s worth.”_

“And then, I woke up.” Buffy kept her eyes closed and fingers crossed across her belly as she lay on the sofa. It had taken most of her hour to get here – to share her dream.

“What do you think it means?” a female voice asked gently.

Buffy turned her head and opened one eye at her therapist, who was probably the only therapist Buffy had ever liked. “Isn’t dream interpretation part of your job description?”

The therapist, Dr. Sullivan, laughed. “You know the answer to that. I’m not a psychoanalyst. Most of them live in New York.” She paused. “Or Houston. What matters more is your interpretation of the dream. What does it mean to you?”

“So, you can analyze my analysis and tell me I’m crazy?” Buffy joked.

“Buffy. You’re avoiding again.” There was no judgment there, only simple observation.

Buffy stared at the ceiling. Someone had thrown one of those squishy stress toys up so it stuck on the sheet rock – a neon green blob of goo. Kind of like the mess she found herself in. See, this is where she had to be careful. Sharing what she really thought could lead to badness. . . badness she had no desire to ever experience again. Hence, with the careful. “I think it means that I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Afraid of. . .” How could she phrase this? “Afraid that my depression has changed me.”

“Changed you how?” Dr. Sullivan nudged. Buffy liked that the therapist didn’t write anything down. It made her feel like she was really with her in the moment.

Her heart thumped in her chest. This was getting dangerously close to the truth. . . in more than one way. “Changed me so that it’s like I’m lacking a soul. Like I can’t get in touch with my feelings and feel connected to others.” Tears filled her eyes and spilled over her cheeks in unexpected hot waves. “That if I can’t figure it out, I’m. . . I’ll. . . no one will love me.”

Buffy had gone down this path before in her brain, in her dreams, and usually, Dr. Sullivan asked if Buffy could name off who in her life loved her. Buffy knew this answer by heart – her family, her best friends. But today, she took it a different direction than before. “Buffy, what are you feeling right now?”

Buffy lifted both eyebrows at her therapist. “Isn’t that like the most cliché therapist question ever?”

“Yes, it is. But humor me. You’ve got tears on your cheeks. That’s new. Tell me about the feelings that go with them.”

Buffy sat up then, her blonde hair cascading down her back. She raked a hand through her hair to brush the strands back as she considered the question. “Sad. Duh.” She bit her lip and blurted, “A little bit hopeless.” Her eyes found Dr. Sullivan’s brown ones. “But not suicidal.” She didn’t want to go back to the hospital and get pumped full of drugs. She was just now on a good balance of pills that didn’t make her drool on herself. “The dream made me happy though.” He brought her happiness. Spike. But she couldn’t let herself dwell on him. Nope.

“First, thank you for the honesty about the suicidal thoughts. Can you let me know if that changes?” Dr. Sullivan was nothing if not serious about safety.

“Of course,” Buffy assured her, wiping the tears off her face and chin. Dr. Sullivan always asked about suicide and oddly enough, Buffy was grateful. The asking made the elephant in the room less elephant-y.

“And second, did you hear all those feelings in there? You are far from disconnected and emotionless.”

Buffy laughed. “And tears, too. There were tears.” She hadn’t cried in forever.

“See. Progress. Now the key here is to take your feelings out, experience them, and be able to put them away again instead of – ”

“Stuffing them per usual.”

“Exactly. Now, I don’t want you to be too hard on yourself about the stuffing thing. Compartmentalizing helped you survive a lot of your trauma, which we’re going to get to at some point.” Catching Buffy’s panicked expression, Dr. Sullivan lifted a hand. “But not anytime soon. Right now, we’re just focused on the basics of coping with feelings and self-care.”

Buffy let out a relieved breath. “Right.”

“Speaking of self-care. . . “

Buffy pondered and glanced over her shoulder out the window. Rain had given way to golden light and a beautiful spring day. “I’m going to walk to the coffee shop and grab a mocha before heading home.”

“Love that plan.” Dr. Sullivan smiled and stood. “It was so nice to see you. Great work, Buffy.”

Buffy gave her a lopsided grin. She wasn’t sure if she was making a ton of progress, but the praise felt good. And she’d successfully avoided rehospitalization. Yay? “Thanks.”

* * *

“One toffee nut mocha with whipped cream and extra nuttiness all ready at the bar for Buffy.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at the barista’s loud pronouncement and was secretly amused by the “extra nuttiness” part. If only she knew the truth about Buffy. “I’m right here, Willow.”

“I know. I just like announcing drinks. It’s fun. Oh, darn it. I forgot to say the extra hot part.” Willow, whose red hair was partially mashed by the jaunty green beanie she was required to wear as part of her uniform, slid the mocha toward Buffy.

The paper cup was hot against Buffy’s palm, so she slid on a cardboard sleeve emblazoned with the “Espresso Pump” logo. She took a sip, and the whipped cream was followed by the hot toffee-flavored coffee, which glided over her tongue before the chocolate set in. It was the perfectly layered dessert drink. “Mmm. Good. How’s your day been?”

Since Willow didn’t have another customer, she leaned toward Buffy. “Busy in the morning while people are heading to work, slow and then busy-ish at lunch. Lots of regulars – the good ones who have their orders ready and don’t complain. All in all? Of the good.”

Willow was so much like Buffy’s witch friend that it was uncanny, but Buffy couldn’t say anything. Unlike her Willow, this one was less burdened. Reason a hundred and fifty-two for this version being better: Buffy hadn’t traumatized her friends.

Buffy tilted her head at Willow’s effervescence. “There’s something else. Something better than good.”

“Yes.” Willow clapped her hands a little and looked like she was trying not to shriek with joy. “Guess.”

Buffy leaned on the bar, eyes widening when she thought of a guess. “Ooo. You got an A on that calculus exam in that class where the prof talks over everyone’s head and uses skiing metaphors in his lessons.” 

“Nope.”

“You found out your favorite band is playing in town, and you got tickets!” This Willow loved good music, too.

“Nope.” Willow’s green eyes sparkled. “I wish.”

Buffy really didn’t know her that well. “You won the lottery?”

Willow crinkled her nose. “Nope. I don’t gamble.”

“I give up. What happened?”

“Well, it just happened, and you’re the first person to come in since the thing happened.”

“Okay.” Buffy nodded with encouragement. 

“Remember that girl I went out with the other night last week?” Willow put both palms on the bar and leaned forward conspiratorially.

“The one with the long blonde hair who is all shy and stuff?” Tara, it was Tara.

“That’s the one. I thought our date went terribly. I mean, how was I to know she’d get food poisoning from that new burger place? We even ordered well done.”

“That sucks.” Buffy didn’t know any of this but it sounded awful.

“Yeah. But she came here. To the coffee shop. She knew I worked here.”

“To scold you?”

Willow laughed. “Nope. She came in and asked me out. On a second date. I mean, now that she’s all recovered and stuff.”

Somehow, Buffy wasn’t surprised. “Oh, wow. I’m so happy for you!”

“Thanks. I’m letting her plan this one.” Willow sighed a happy sigh. “I just have a feeling about her, you know?”

Buffy felt her heart grow heavy in her chest. “I do.” Her dream floated back up into her conscious awareness. She missed him. . . ached for him. She’d hurt him, and he was gone.

Willow must have caught her sadness. “Hey. What about that neighbor of yours?”

“What neighbor?” Buffy knew exactly who Willow was referencing.

“What’s his name? The guy with the bluest eyes who’s working on his English lit degree?” Willow’s brow furrowed in concentration for a few seconds too long, and then, she snapped her fingers. “William. His name is William.”

“Good memory.” Buffy had mentioned him once. “What about him?”

“You deserve to go on a date. Have someone buy you dinner. Preferably not at Burger Barn.” Willow always wanted Buffy to be happy in the romance department.

“I dunno.” Buffy hid her thumping heart by holding her cup with both hands and taking a sip of her mocha.

“You said he’s been giving you ‘the look’ when you pass each other in the hallway.”

“Gave me the look. One time.”

Willow crossed her arms. “When you stopped his cat from running down the stairs and into a busy street.”

“He would have caught him. He was annoyed at me for helping him.”

“Not the point.”

The door to the coffee shop opened, and a bell tinkled a customer’s arrival. Two older men entered the shop and were gazing up at the big chalked menu above the register. They didn’t seem like regulars.

“That’s my cue. Have fun on your date and thanks for the mocha.” Buffy held up her coffee as she squeezed by the men.

“Think about it,” Willow persisted one last time.

Buffy made a face at her.

Willow grinned as she turned to her waiting customers. “How may I help you?” 

* * *

On the way upstairs, Buffy had lots of thoughts. Lots of irritating thoughts about William. The thoughts were Willow’s fault.

William wasn’t Spike. He just wasn’t. For one thing, he was human. For another, his hair wasn’t bleached. But it was still curly and sometimes slicked back. He didn’t wear a black duster that he’d stripped off a Slayer he’d killed. But he slouched about in doorways the way Spike used to lounge around the cemetery waiting for her.

Buffy bit her lip as she took the top step into her apartment hallway. The dream had felt so real though. All those things she knew weren’t real felt real. Maybe she shouldn’t have stopped taking the anti-psychotic pills even with their not-so-fun side effects.

She fumbled for her key as she approached her door, and as she found her door key and slid it home in the lock, the door behind her opened.  
“Buffy?” Spike. . . no, William. William said.

She tried not to read too much into the inflection of her name. Plastering on a smile, she turned to face him with faux nonchalance. Why had the universe insisted that this version of Spike move into the apartment across from hers in Santa Barbara, California? “Hi!” Gosh, that was a little too perky, but at least she hadn’t spilled what was left of her coffee.

Another difference: this version of Spike wore glasses. William ran his hand through his soft curls and leaned against his doorframe. “I, um, heard you out here and just wanted to. . . well, how do you feel about Chinese food?”

“I love Chinese food. When?” popped out of her mouth before she could put the brakes on. Damn it. She couldn’t get involved with him.

William’s bright blue eyes widened. Maybe he was surprised by her over-the-top enthusiasm. “Now. I mean,” he shifted a little but kept his eyes on hers, “my order came, and it’s more than I thought it’d be. It’s still hot.”

“Okay.”

“I could come there.” He studied her face the way Spike used to when he was trying so hard to read her. “Or you’re welcome to come here. Whichever you’d prefer.”

Which did she prefer?

William’s grey tabby, Mercutio, poked his curious head around William’s leg, no doubt wondering why the door was open. He was really a beautiful cat – all elegant, feline, and unpredictable the way Spike could be sometimes.

Buffy didn’t want to be responsible for another great escape. On the other hand, was it weird that she wanted him to be angry again? “Your place is fine.”

William gently scooped up his cat and stepped back, holding the door for her and reminding her of the time Spike held the door for her. “Welcome.”

As William shut the door behind her and Mercutio thumped to the floor, Buffy surveyed William’s apartment. His floorplan was the same as hers only opposite and filled with odds and ends that he’d pieced together that didn’t go together but somehow did. There was a small TV with rabbit ears angled in opposite directions, a leather sofa taped up in places but still looking buttery soft, a pile of records and books on a bookshelf alongside a record player, and a slightly tilted recliner covered in dark red cloth, no doubt hiding a well-loved piece of furniture. The whole place smelled of Chinese food, and her stomach growled.

“Love what you’ve done with the space,” Buffy said, meaning every word.

“You don’t have to placate me. I know it’s a bit dodgy.” He sounded more embarrassed than irritated thankfully.

“I’m not.” To show him just how un-dodgy it was, Buffy ran her hand over the top of the recliner. “It’s comfy.” She nodded at the open volumes on the coffee table alongside a closed laptop. Pages of handwritten notes were strewn about. “What are you studying?”

He leaned against the doorway to the kitchen. “Shakespeare. I’m writing an argumentative paper about which couples were the ‘best.’” He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t choose it; that was the assignment.”

“Oh. That’s easy. Romeo and Juliet.”

William scoffed. “Not even close. Just because they teach it in secondary school doesn’t make it the greatest romance.”

Buffy frowned a little in confusion. “But you named your cat after Mercutio.”

“The cat has a temper,” William said just as his pet rubbed up against Buffy’s legs.

She bent to pet him. “He seems sweet.”

“Don’t let him fool you. He’s got claws.”

Mercutio glanced back at William and let out a loud meow followed a round of steady purring as he went back to his attempts to fuse with Buffy’s legs. He bumped his head against her hand.

Buffy squatted to better scratch behind his ears. “So he has claws. I like him.” She didn’t know if she was talking about Mercutio or Spike.

Mercutio suddenly opened his mouth and snapped at her, almost grabbing her finger.

She patted him on the head and stood as her stomach growled again. “Someone told me you had food.”

William grinned at her. She wasn’t sure if he was laughing at her because the cat had proved his point or because he was happy to feed her. He pushed up out of his wall lean and rounded into the kitchen. “Do you like spicy or mild?”

Buffy didn’t hesitate. “Spicy.”

“Good. That’s all there is.” Paper bags rustled, and then, William appeared with his arms loaded down with little white boxes, a bottle of soy sauce, and wooden chopsticks.

Buffy’s mouth dropped open.

An insecure expression washed over William’s face. “Too much?”

She forced herself to close her mouth and shook her head. “Not at all. Thank you.”

Relief filled his blue eyes, and he inclined his head toward the sofa. “Put your feet up, pet.”

Buffy stared at him as he arranged the food on the coffee table, moving aside his work. He’d gone into the kitchen and come out with platinum blonde hair and vampire pale skin as if the life had been sucked out of him in a moment. His glasses were gone, and his eyes shone more without them. She blinked a few times, but he remained the same. She wasn’t going crazy, was she?

Set-up complete, William scanned over the meal, seemingly unfazed by her lack of movement. “Drinks. Forgot. Beer okay?”

“Sure.” She found her legs and moved closer, accidentally-on-purpose brushing his arm with hers. His skin was cool – vampire cool. She shivered from a mix of desire and fear, sitting as she tried to process what was happening. Sinking into the cushioned sofa, she inhaled the scent that she always identified as uniquely Spike – a hint of leather and cigarette smoke overlaid by the soap he favored that always had her burying her nose against his skin.

“I only have Carling, which one of my mates brought on a lark.” He said this with apology like Buffy knew what he was talking about.

“Hmm. Oh. That’s fine.”

While he was gone, Buffy considered pinching herself. Maybe she was sleeping again, and she needed to wake up and take her medication again. Though she didn’t always tell her therapist, Spike was often in her dreams, supporting her, loving her despite something being really wrong with her, despite the way she’d treated him, despite her depression and trauma. Maybe she shouldn’t pinch herself and enjoy the dream.

Mercutio meowed at her as if he could read her thoughts and agreed with the staying where she was part. He jumped up on the sofa and sat down next to her, blinking at her with wide, golden eyes.

Carbonated beverages hissed and poured, grounding her back in the present. So, she asked, “Which couples are the ‘best’?”

“What’s that, pet?”

“In Shakespeare.”

William appeared again, still looking very much like Spike. He handed her a tall glass of beer, his fingers brushing hers as she accepted the drink. She took a sip.

As he eased down beside her, he said, “If we’re keeping things simple, the answer is easy. Beatrice and Benedick. Katherine and Petruchio.”

Buffy didn’t recognize either. She set her drink on the coffee table next to the remains of her mocha. “Why them?”

William leaned forward with his forearms on his legs, studying the boxes and then peering up at her. “The long and short of it? They know each other much more than Romeo and Juliet ever did. They fight – there’s passion there, but there’s a deeper trust between them that they worked for over time. Romeo and Juliet hardly know each other.”

“Oh,” Buffy said softly. “That makes sense.”

“Kung Pao or General Tso’s?” He picked up two boxes.

“Kung Pao.” She retrieved a pair of chopsticks and broke them apart. Tiny stakes that could pierce a heart.

“Plus, they kill themselves in the end.” William. . . Spike dug into the General Tso’s with gusto.

Buffy bit her lip and concentrated on picking up a peanut in the sauce. “What do you think about that? Suicide.”

Spike was silent for a long time, continuing to eat. Buffy followed his lead and ate for a while, savoring the spicy chicken. The beer and bits of fried rice soothed her aching tongue.

When Spike spoke again, she listened. “I knew a bloke in school. He experienced a bit of abuse from his parents. He only hinted at it once or twice over a pint or two. Nice guy. Would’ve given you the shirt off his back. One day, he hung himself in the dorm. Turned out his father had killed his mum, my friend was going to have to leave school on account that his father was going to prison, and he thought checking out of the world was the best thing to do. Didn’t see it coming, but I wished I had done something differently to help him through.”

“You couldn’t have known if he didn’t tell you,” Buffy reassured him. She didn’t know if this happened to Spike or William. Either way, the hunch of his shoulders told her the loss impacted him.

“I know that now.” He set aside his food and sank back next to her. He smiled at her despite the sadness in his eyes. “It’s why when I see someone hurting now, I reach out. Maybe more than I should. And if it’s someone I care about? I’m all in.”

“Oh.” Was William talking about her? But she didn’t know this version of Spike. Not really.

“I know you’re hurting, Buffy. And I’m here to help you if you’ll let me.” He was sincere.

“I-I don’t know.” But she did know. She knew he loved her even if he didn’t have a soul.

“I won’t push. If you come back to me, I won’t push. We got ourselves into more than a bit of a pickle before, but it doesn’t have to be that way. You need time, and I’m here. Do you trust me?”

Before, Buffy would have said that she would never trust him. . . could never trust him. But gazing into his blue eyes, she took a risk and nodded. After all, this was just a dream, and she could be honest with herself and him. “I do. I do trust you.”

He nodded toward the coffee table. “Then, I need you to drink that. Drink it all down and come back to me.”

Buffy’s eyes landed on her beer, which wasn’t her beer anymore but the sludgy-looking concoction that Willow had made her to help with the side effects of that demon who had skewered her. “Oh. I don’t know.”

“Please, Buffy,” he urged. “You will get through this. It’s bad now, but you will. Your bloody friends love you. The lil Bit loves you.” The “I love you” was silent but ever-present.

“I don’t have a sister.” Even as she said the words, Buffy knew they weren’t true.

“You do, love.”

She swallowed. “I know. This isn’t a dream? I’m not going to get locked up in a mental institution?”

“No. We’ve been trying to reach you.” He retrieved the medicine for her, lightly touching her knee when he handed it to her.

She hesitated but took it. “I’m not suicidal, but I think I might need to see a therapist. Someone who specializes in trauma.” She hadn’t liked the psychiatrist in the hospital, but Dr. Sullivan wasn’t so bad.

Spike didn’t contradict her like he had so many times before. Instead, he agreed. “Probably a good idea. ” 

“Can we take Mercutio? Dawn is still upset about Miss Kitty.” This was the first time Buffy had allowed herself to say her sister’s name out loud.

“Not sure. But we can try.”

“Okay.” She had one more thing to do before she drank it down. “Kiss me.”

This time, he was uncertain. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Does it mean anything?” He was earnest.

Did it? Buffy’s heart pounded in her chest. This answer was important. After all, she’d only recently broken up with him because she’d been using him. She searched his eyes for a long moment. He was still there for her despite everything they’d been doing to each other, and in that space of time, she knew without a doubt that she’d be there for him if needed her. “It means everything because it’s real.”

He didn’t need more permission, tucking his fingers through her hair so that he cradled her head. She brought her lips to his as gently as she had when he’d withstood Glory’s torture to protect Dawn. Only this time, he knew who she was, knew that what she was doing was the promise of renewed possibility. They moved with each other as they had so many times before, but this time, she relaxed into the affection. When the kiss deepened, she moaned softly, wanting more.

Instead, Spike broke away at her sound, caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers as Mercutio situated himself between them and began to purr. “Drink, love. Leave this false world behind and wake up. Come back to us. Come back to me. We’ll suss the rest out later.”

**Author's Note:**

> There are many psychoanalysts in New York City and also in Texas. The Menninger Clinic where I worked for almost a decade is known for being very psychodynamic (but is not filled with psychoanalysts), and there is a gathering of therapists and psychiatrists who work from the psychodynamic standpoint. Dr. Sullivan in this story is one.
> 
> I’ve been wanting to write a fic centered around Normal Again/what if Buffy got stuck in that other world and did some healing, and this EC prompt was the perfect opportunity, so thank you for my prompt!
> 
> Spike is totally studying Shakespeare. And he probably got stuck in a group project with this chosen topic. Mercutio reminds me of Spike so I made him a grey tabby with yellow demon eyes.
> 
> Carling is a British beer that’s on some list of worst beers. There’s also a Canadian tie as well. I don’t think you can get it in the US.


End file.
